


10.16

by bonebo



Series: Kinktober '16 [16]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Time, Pet Names, Sweet, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8305999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Genji's never had a problem with love before.kinktober 16 - first time





	

Genji never had a problem with love before.

The dozens of women he’s taken to his bed--the ones he coaxed, the ones who practically jumped in--have made him callous to the word, desensitized him to what it’s supposed to mean, supposed to feel like. Love was nothing but another tool in Genji’s arsenal, packed in with his good looks and his roguish charm; something they panted about when made mindless by pleasure, something embarrassing and forgotten by the time they woke in a tangle of bedsheets, still hanging like pipe smoke in the air when they left his room in silence. 

Genji is used to dealing with “love”.

But he’s not used to dealing with this.

This--this fascination, he’s had, lately; this enamoration, the restless nights spent too alone, the warmth that bubbles in his chest. It drives him half-mad with obsession, with desire, weakens his knees and tangles his tongue and turns him light in a way that makes him feel heavy, hot. The feeling is all-encompassing and so foreign to his carefree heart, something potent and clinging that no amount of mediation can chase away. 

And it’s all for Zenyatta. 

He realizes it, late one night--as he lies on his bed with the bright moonlight spilling in through the window, painting pale lines across his abdomen and keeping him from sleep. He lays his head back and closes his eyes, tries to empty his mind like he’s been taught, but as soon as the space is vacant enough more images rush in to fill it. There’s gold and silver and polished chrome, the glow of soft teal lights reflecting back off Genji’s own armor; there’s Zenyatta’s murmured praise and Zenyatta’s soft laugh, and Genji groans at the flush it sends through him, how it makes his toes curl. 

He knows what this is. It’s terrifying.

Zenyatta is everything Genji could never see himself falling for--he’s a male, an Omnic male, an Omnic male of a higher status than Genji’s own. Everything he is made of is everything that Genji has always avoided; and beyond that, Genji knows that the monks don’t have a code for celibacy, but surely this--an arrangement between a pupil and a Master, of such an illicit nature--would break some ages-old rule, some law held in reverence. 

Genji wonders, fleetingly, if his confession would get him cast out from the monks that have grown to replace his family. 

He rolls until his back is to the moonlight, and grabs for the nearest pillow, crushing it against his chest in an attempt to ease his distress--but his armor keeps the contact from truly connecting, keeps him distant from whatever comfort the motion could give him.

Genji doesn’t let go. He dreams of drowning, in a sea of polished gold.

__

It happens entirely by accident.

They’re up on the roof of the monastery, sitting in peaceful meditation--have been for hours, long enough to watch the sun set and the stars take their place in the inky sky. It’s a quiet night, and Genji is thankful for it; it lets his restless mind settle slightly, lets him focus on his breathing and Zenyatta’s warm presence and not the way his pulse jumps in his throat, how his blood hums just under his skin like something alive and longing. 

Zenyatta shifts, suddenly, beside him; as attuned as Genji is to him, to his placement in their universe, the motion draws his gaze. He looks over and watches Zenyatta’s head fluidly tip back, watches his backstruts flex as he stretches backward, putting his hands out on the roof behind him to brace himself as his chest arches into the air. His motions are smooth, controlled, sure--without any kind of hesitance--and Genji finds himself wishing fiercely that he had that kind of confidence, too.

“...Master? Is something wrong?”

Zenyatta glances over, hums thoughtfully; then he lays back, pulling his legs out of their folded position to stretch them out and letting his feet hang off the edge of the roof. His arms pillow up behind his head. “Nothing is wrong. It’s easier for me to see the stars, this way.”

“Oh.” Genji feels foolish for asking in the first place. He relaxes out of his pose--meditation is done for the night, he supposes--and leans back on his hands, looking up to the sky too. “...Hm. They are especially gorgeous tonight.”

“Yes…they are truly extraordinary.” Zenyatta sighs, voice soft and adoring; Genji glances over at him again, and that same something restless gnawing at his heart is put at ease by just being so near Zenyatta, close enough to feel the warmth of the omnic’s aura rolling gently against Genji’s own, soothing and endless. “I do love the nights here.”

And it comes out before Genji can stop it--too strong to be kept contained--like it’s only natural:

“I love you.”

For a moment everything is quiet--then, like a heartbeat, the moment passes.

“I-I mean!” Genji looks over sharply, scrambling up onto his knees, ready to bolt--his heart is pounding in his throat, embarrassment making his skin crawl. Why had he said that? “I, uh--I enjoy--”

“Genji.” Zenyatta’s face tips over to look at him, relaxed and casual still; Genji’s frantic explanation halts as soon as the omnic’s voice registers--warm, soothing, slightly amused as he murmurs, “Calm yourself. Your affection is entirely reciprocated.”

Genji stares at him dumbly, breath caught in his throat. “....my affection--”

“I love you, too.”

Zenyatta says it so easily. Like it doesn’t change everything, like it’s not earth-shattering; he just says it, and looks back up to the stars with a soft, content noise, like this new information has always been part of them, always there.

Genji supposes that maybe it has.

He slowly lays back down on the rooftop and splays out his arms, unnerved by his own daring, hopeful--and smiles as mere moments later a cool hand slips into his own, squeezes like Zenyatta would rather die than let go.

Genji decides then and there that he has never known a night more beautiful. 

-x-

Genji likes to shower after his meditation sessions. 

He finds that the warm water and rising steam help to settle his head, cement the things he’d learned or realized during the session; and more often than not, he can use the time alone to go over his body critically, find and remedy the minor dings and scratches from his sparring matches, or work loose some knotted cable or tense joint. 

It’s a soothing place to be, and Genji sighs as he runs a hand down the length of his torso, rubbing soap into the flexing joints of his abdomen, the seams where his panels connect; his hand goes down between his legs by learned habit, and as his fingers run over the flattened metal of his groin he pauses, fighting against the urge to jerk his hand away.

It used to bother him--this most secret of places on his body, hidden securely behind smooth panels of silver armor, sealed away with his shame. He can remember being new to this figure and hating the supple, vulnerable hole between his legs, feeling like a piece of himself was taken away and replaced by this thing: something foreign, something unfitting. 

But as he’s gotten older, he’s matured with this frame; and his feelings of disgust and resentment have settled into something closer to a resigned acceptance, a begrudging admission to himself that he cannot change this part of himself more than any other. Zenyatta’s teachings have been critical in helping him reach that kind of peace with himself as a whole--in chasing away his feelings of inferiority, the self-hatred that threatened to eat him alive, the panic that stole his breath as he was forced to relearn the most basic of tasks--and he’s learned to see the beauty in his new body, learned to appreciate its capabilities and strengths, the way it enables him to better himself. But even his mentor’s best words of wisdom do little to chase away his most deep-seated feelings of bitterness toward the new anatomy built between his legs.

Genji startles as he hears the door behind him open--it is a communal washroom, but this late he was certain he’d be alone here. He peeks over his shoulder, blinking against the spray of the water hitting his shoulder, and perks up as he sees none other than Zenyatta closing the door again, a white towel laid over his shoulder.

“Hello, Master,” Genji greets, as Zenyatta pulls loose the tie holding his pants up and lets them fall; he steps free of the puddle they make on the tile floor, and Genji tries not to stare at Zenyatta’s bared body as he moves, the sleekness of his thighs and curves of his hips.

He’s seen Zenyatta this way a dozen times--after living together for so long, it comes with the territory, and shouldn’t provoke such a reaction. But when Genji tries to chastise himself for getting so worked up over something so relatively minor, he finds that he just doesn’t have the heart. 

“Genji,” Zenyatta murmurs, setting the towel on a nearby rack and coming closer. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not, Master.” 

And why would he? He loves Zenyatta, just as surely as the sun rises in the east--even if the realization does make his heart jump into his throat, make his knees weak--and in the days that have passed since Genji’s initial confession, he’s had precious little time to spend with Zenyatta alone. Even the thought of something as mundane as a shower together is enough to make Genji smile.

He steps over when Zenyatta gets near, letting the shower’s spray wash over the omnic; this close, Genji can see the minute details of Zenyatta’s frame, the seams in his armor, how his joints flex. His hands itch to touch the omnic, feel for himself what makes him tick and how he works--but as soon as he realizes the desire for what exactly it is, he hurriedly squashes it down, embarrassed by it.

Zenyatta wouldn’t even want something physical like that, he knows; and Genji doesn’t have the first idea about how to go about giving or receiving pleasure in this body. It’s just another reminder of what he’s lost.

But still--he can’t deny the ache he feels, the kind of physical, tangible loneliness that he can’t shake. He leans against the wall under the showerhead, and fixes his gaze on Zenyatta, head cocked questioningly. 

“Master?”

Zenyatta looks up from where he rubs an omnic-friendly soap across the pistons in his abdomen. “Yes, Genji?”

“The monks…” Genji trails off, uncertain how to ask what he wants to know, and changes his tactic. “Your vows...they prohibit certain things, right?”

“...that is correct, yes,” Zenyatta answers, sounding only a touch confused. His helm tips to the side a little, and Genji is struck again by the overwhelming desire to kiss him; a desire that he has absolutely no idea how to handle. “Violence, and hatred, and other unbecoming things.”

 _Unbecoming things_. “What about...certain relationships? Or...actions, during those relationships?”

There’s a pause, with only the sound of the rushing water able to be heard. Until--

“Genji, are you asking me if I am allowed to participate in sexual activity?”

Genji feels himself blush. He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, trying to hide his sudden rush of self-consciousness--he didn’t think he’d been that obvious. 

Zenyatta seems to take the lingering, embarrassed silence as its own answer, and chuckles lightly. “Do not worry. I have no such restrictions in my faith. In fact…” His voice lowers, trailing off; he takes a step closer, until he’s but a breath away from Genji, and places his hands on the wall beside Genji’s shoulders, lights dimming as he tilts his helm up toward Genji’s face. “...I had considered pursuing such a path with you, if you were willing.”

Genji blinks, then stares down at him--at the mist of the water spraying over the back of Zenyatta’s body, the way his chrome gleams, how the soft light of the room shines in the polished metal of his shoulders. He finds himself captivated, again, by the simple beauty of the omnic that stands before him; lost yet again to his desire to pull Zenyatta close and cover him in kisses, keep him safe and happy, treasure him like he’s treasured no other.

It’s a foreign feeling to him, something new and utterly strange that he has no idea how to handle, strong enough to make his breathing catch. But after a few seconds of warring with himself, trying to find his voice, he manages a nod. 

“Of course,” Genji murmurs, biting down on his smile as he hears Zenyatta’s happy hum. “I’d be delighted.”

-x-

But delighted doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Genji lies on his back on the spacious bed in Zenyatta’s room, watching Zenyatta climb astride his hips, and it’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Zenyatta settles above him comfortably with the grace Genji’s come to adore him for, all sharp angles and polished metal, and gleams in the dim light like a treasure; Genji has a sudden desire to reach up and touch, to lay his hands on those sleek thighs and across Zenyatta’s hips, but he feels like doing so would be a disservice. His own almost-flesh would mar the beauty of Zenyatta’s shining frame. 

So instead he waits, and watches as Zenyatta is the first one to move--leaning closer, to rest his forehead against Genji’s with a soft noise, hand skimming up the cyborg’s chest to settle over Genji’s cheek. 

“I love you,” Zenyatta murmurs, and Genji nods against him, pressing his lips to the cool metal of Zenyatta’s jaw and imagining he can taste the current of power that runs underneath. “I want this to be good for you, Genji. Will you help me make it so?”

Genji hesitates at the question. He’s never had a problem with good sex before--would consider himself something of an expert, if he were still in his old body--but he’s never been on the receiving end of things before, either. While he can imagine what Zenyatta should do to make them both feel good, can remember the tricks he used to pull to make his lovers scream, it’s nothing more than that: just imagining, and the sudden realization that he’s going from never having touched his new anatomy to full-blown sex is a little unnerving.

But it’s Zenyatta. He can trust himself, trust this vulnerability and new experience, with Zenyatta.

“Yes,” Genji murmurs, nodding to reassure himself more than the monk currently astride his hips. _Yes. He can do this. It can be good._

It feels like letting loose, and Zenyatta seems to take it for permission. His hands come to rest on Genji’s body--ghosting up his flank and making him shiver, then sweeping broad and solid across the planes of his chest, fingers delving into every crack and seam of his armor to feel. Genji arches into his touches, body following the motions of Zenyatta’s fingers like a pale river, and shivers when he feels a soft, curious brush against his inner thigh. He looks up at Zenyatta’s face, tension starting to bleed back into his figure, and then Zenyatta’s fingers touch over the armor between his legs, just barely--and Genji, for the first time since he’s met the monk, flinches from him. 

“Master, I--”

“Hush, little sparrow,” Zenyatta says, his voice gentle but firm enough to Genji to snap his jaw shut; it’s the kind of voice Zenyatta takes when he’s about to launch into a serious lecture, impart some of his hard-won wisdom on those around him, and Genji respects him far too much to try to talk over it. 

“I was under the impression you had become at ease with yourself, Genji,” Zenyatta says, and something in Genji’s chest wilts at the disappointment he can pick out of the omnic’s tone. “It would seem I was wrong. You still do not have peace.”

“I…” Genji swallows, looks away; what can Zenyatta know about this? He wouldn’t understand Genji’s distress at what exactly he’s lost, and what else he’s been forced to handle gaining. He thought he was over it, too. “...it’s complicated, Master.”

“Complicated.” Silver fingers skim over the cut of Genji’s hip, force a shiver up his spine. Zenyatta sounds unconvinced.

“It’s about what is…” He taps softly, again, at the panel tucked away between quivering thighs. “...here, yes?”

Genji swallows hard, the cables in his thighs jumping at the sudden shock of pleasure. “Yes.”

“Such a little thing, to cause you such grief,” Zenyatta murmurs, tone changing to something soft, caught between sorrow and confusion as his fingers trail lightly across the smooth panel. “And why? Why does something so small, so harmless, distress you so badly?”

“It’s...it’s wrong,” Genji grinds out, hands curling into fists against the sheets, quivering with the effort it takes to keep them still. Desire surges in his chest, raw and hot. “Something so vulnerable, and...unbecoming…”

“Unbecoming?” Zenyatta echoes, as if mystified by the word. His head tilts up, and Genji can sense the intensity of his mentor’s gaze upon his face, hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Let me show you, my dear student, how very wrong you are.”

Zenyatta doesn’t wait for an answer--doesn’t need one, because Genji’s thighs fall open with a hitch in his breath that sounds almost painful, and the armor slides apart to bare himself to Zenyatta’s gaze. His pussy quivers in the open air, all pale green framed in black and silver; and Zenyatta finds himself helpless to keep his fingers from touching lightly at one plump, rubbery lip, making Genji twitch.

“My darling,” Zenyatta murmurs, voice soft and reverent. He slides his finger up the middle of Genji’s warm folds, gently spreading him and listening to his student’s shaky whine. “My dear, precious sparrow…why would you ever call this piece of yourself unbecoming? It’s beautiful, like you, and soft, and perfect…”

He slips one thin finger into the twitching hole, watching Genji’s chest suddenly arch, listening to his choked keen. 

“And oh so welcoming.”

His finger moves slowly, a simple in and out; and Genji reels with it, with the brand-new stretch and the feeling of penetration, of something--someone--else being inside him. His fingers twist into the sheets as he lays his head back, biting at what remains of his lower lip in an attempt to stifle himself, embarrassed by the noises Zenyatta has already pulled from his throat.

“Master,” he chokes out, trying to roll his hips to meet the thrusting finger--with anyone else, he’d be mortified at his depravity. With Zenyatta, he’s eager for a chance to see just what other new sensations he can feel.

“Shh…” Zenyatta’s voice is soft and quiet, a stark contrast to the cry he earns as he slides another finger into the slick warmth of Genji’s hole. “Oh, my darling...my dear little sparrow, my Genji. Does it hurt?”

Genji shakes his head, quivering under his master’s touch and rolling his hips up for more; no, it doesn’t hurt. It’s a feeling he’s never experienced before, as Zenyatta’s fingers light up nerves and nodes that he’s never dared to experiment with, fill a void he didn’t know existed. It’s warmth and a tingling that shoots up his whole body like electricity, stealing his breath away on a shuddering whimper--and he clutches at Zenyatta’s wrist and realizes, suddenly, that it’s not enough.

“Zenyatta,” Genji chokes out, voice urgent, “Zenyatta, please--more. I-I need more, master, it’s not enough--”

“Shh…” Zenyatta’s voice fades into a soft hum as he pulls his fingers free; Genji whines, breath hitching at the loss, the sudden vacancy that threatens to swallow him whole.

“Zenyatta--Master…”

“Just a moment, dearest. Just a moment.” He keeps one hand on Genji’s soft little pussy, rubbing over the slick mound to keep Genji’s impatience at bay as he lets his own equipment free; Zenyatta’s slender, long shaft slides hard and ready into his hand, and he gives it a few slick strokes as he tries to prepare himself, watching the way Genji’s body arches and listening to his needy little pants. 

“Is this what you want?” Zenyatta asks, butting the head of his shaft up against Genji’s pussy and nudging through the wet folds with a kind of urgency he’s never felt before--he’s struck again by the realization that he’s never done this before, that he’s not entirely sure of himself in this matter. He hopes he can give Genji what he needs, and share this new part of himself with his favorite pupil. “...Genji. Is this--?”

“Yes!” Genji cries, trying to roll his hips backward, keening like a wounded animal. “Zenyatta, please!”

The omnic hesitates no longer. He slides in easy and it’s like nothing Genji has ever felt before, like nothing Zenyatta has to known to exist; for a moment they’re both lost, reeling from it, hands tangled together as their bodies join in a way neither could have imagined. 

Zenyatta is the first one to break the silence, dropping his head forward to nuzzle against Genji’s cheek, feel the cyborg’s pants against his metal. “...Genji, oh...my dearest, Genji, I…”

“I know,” Genji moans, squeezing Zenyatta’s hands tighter; he bucks his hips up, desperate for motion, copying the actions he’d seen lovers use on him before. He can feel the stretch of Zenyatta’s girth around his previously untested rim, and the pleasant burn drives him wild. “Zenyatta, please--move, I need it, move…”

Zenyatta straightens a little, nodding at Genji’s command. He rolls his pelvis forward, sliding further into Genji’s warmth and drawing a moan from them both. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up the rhythm they need--a slow, easy glide, driving deep on each thrust just to hear Genji mewl--and between their inexperience and urgency completion comes quickly.

Zenyatta is the first to go: clutched in Genji’s silken heat and lost to the new sensations, the warmth that steals up his very circuitry and makes his vents hiss steam. He grabs for Genji’s hips and digs in, overwhelmed by the feeling that rushes over him in a blinding wave, moaning his release in choppy, static-laced ecstasy; and the feeling of Zenyatta’s completion inside him, the way Genji can feel the omnic’s shaft pulsing and twitching against his rim, is more than enough to send Genji over the edge, too. He cums to the sensation of Zenyatta’s copious cum spilling out past his rim, hand splayed across his lower abdomen to feel Zenyatta’s presence inside him and against his internal workings, imagining he can feel the firmness of Zenyatta’s length against his hand.

For a moment, both are quiet; there’s no sound in the room, save for panting and the whirring of cooling fans, heated metal pinging back into place as it cools. Zenyatta carefully slides free of Genji’s body, looking with a kind of giddy curiosity at the amount of spill he’d left inside Genji’s twitching hole--brings a finger up to plug it back up again, and is surprised as the dark curl of possession that coils inside him at Genji’s weak cry. He files it away to meditate on later, pulling his finger free.

He looks up as Genji makes a soft noise--something quiet and tired, but content. Zenyatta crawls up his student’s body, settling down beside him with a pleased hum and resting his hand over Genji’s chest, feeling it rise and fall in his breaths.

“...was that good, my darling?” Zenyatta murmurs, and Genji’s eyes flit over to his face before the cyborg manages a breathless smile.

“Amazing.”

Genji leans up to press a kiss against the warm chrome of Zenyatta’s face, and realizes that he thought he’d never had a problem with love before--but that maybe he’d never known a love quite like this.


End file.
